


Domestic (Hurt And )Comfort

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Cliche, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izaya gets beat up and is in a foul mood. Yeah, Namie is not falling for <i>that trick</i>, no, sir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic (Hurt And )Comfort

Izaya is very strong but he is not immortal. He is not Shizuo either.

Sharing an office – effectively sharing living spaces and its hours of closeness – with the jerk has acquainted Namie (against her will, because that has to be said) not only with habits and quirks of his, but also with his limits. Yes, he has limits, despite how much he wants to believe otherwise.

So she is a bit surprised to find him in his flat at this hour and not completely surprised to find that there's blood on the coat and jacket that he's left lying around in the entrance. She follows the faint light coming from his bedroom, thinking _whatever they've done to him, I'm sure he deserved it_.

Namie stands in the threshold looking at the pathetic (and slightly unfamiliar) image of Izaya – who, very infuriatingly, had called for her as soon as she let herself into his flat with an aggravating “ _Welcome home!_ ” in a manner and voice reserved for wives welcoming her husbands – cradling his own arm and vying for a bottle of scotch dangerously resting on the very edge of his nightstand. A bottle of pills somewhere by his side, too.

He looks up at her, as if he doesn't recognize her for a moment, or more like he didn't really expected her to come into his room when he called.

`What the hell happened to you this time?´

`I'd say _you should see the other guy_ but the other guy hasn't a scratch on him, so.´

He pats the bed by his side. Namie _blinks_. He pats again.

`You _are_ joking.´

As much as he usually loves seeing her with her arms crossed in from of her chest with that expression of righteous indignation ( _hypocrite_ ) he is just not in the mood right now.

And Izaya's bad moods are normally hectic, Namie knows this (she wishes she didn't, she wishes she didn't know so much), but now the anger shows in an uncharacteristically quiet fashion. It's not less annoying, of course, but Namie doesn't know what to do with the novelty.

`This is not a ploy to get you to nurse me back into health,´ he says, swinging his drink. `But I am having a pity party and you are definitely welcome to join it.´

He is a bit surprised when she takes up his offer and sits on the edge of the bed; cautiously, every muscle of her body communicating the message “for the record, I am actually disgusted by just touching your blanket”. What an exhausting woman. Izaya doesn't even know why he associates with her. He looks out of the window; it's raining, drizzling really. The glass reflecting the blue and orange lights of Shinjuku, the tall buildings and the clouds.

Izaya flexes the fingers of his right hand, the improvised bandages and it doesn't look good. He winces.

`That doesn't look good,´ Namie comments, unconcerned.

He waves his hand in dismissal, as if proving something. ( _Fuck, it hurts_ )

`I'm a doctor, you know.´

Izaya looks shocked.

`Really? But you actually remember any of your medical training? I had imagined that by now all of your brain space had been taken up by incestuous urges.´

One can only guess he is trying to get her to kill him, or maim him, or at least hit him very hard. Well, he is doing a great job.

`We can play doctors and nurses,´ he offers.

`Since I'm the doctor I'm assuming... you'll be the nurse.´

`I don't have a nurse's uniform with me but give me ten minutes – I can make some phone calls.´

His smile looks completely artificial to her. Namie imagines this is the way inanimate objects would smile if they could.

`Sick bastard.´

`Aw, thanks.´

`Why are you not on your beloved chat? You spend every free minute with that. Pathetic, really. Or have your chat friends deserted you? Are they having another hot pot and didn't invite you again?´

Oh that's nice, he thinks, his hurt expression like crumpled-paper.

`Well, even so,´ he says. `You are _here_ spending your time _with me_ , I think that's hardly less pathetic. Don't you?´

Namie doesn't even know why that makes her snap, it's a small thing, it's part of what they do, their give and take, it's not serious and it's not meant to bother her this match but maybe it's the horror (the Horror, capitalized), the realization that they have a patterns, and that _they_ as an entity, as a conjunction, exist.

She punches him on the arm – the injured one, thank you very much.

Izaya seems to like that.

He is laughing.

(the thing she doesn't get; it's about control. Izaya doesn't particularly mind having got hurt, it had to happen eventually – he minds very much getting hurt when he is _trying not to_ ; the pain is completely okay by him, it's the sense of helplessness associated that he can't bear: there are about three thousand people in this city who want his head and they are all generally very weak, today he wasn't really looking to cross paths with the one person who isn't)

(he is trying to regain control the only way he can come up with right now – self-pitying bastard – trying to prove he knows exactly how humans work and that he can predict them down to the tiniest reaction and Namie – bless her – is raising to his bait exactly how he wanted her to)

So he grabs her arm and pulls Namie – who so carefully was just standing on the edge of the bed, carefully calculating which was the most distance she could put between them and still be sitting on it – down down down and to his side; and he is so quick, even injured (and it hurts so fucking much to move like this, but that gives him a certain sense of accomplishment) and though Namie is also quick protesting, _Hey!_ , her body doesn't quite catch up with her words and before she can react Izaya already has her under his body, pressing his legs so that she can't manoeuvre well enough to unlock herself.

The first thing Namie thinks is that he is heavier than he looks - but maybe that's just how she views it right now, when she can feel his ribcage pressed to her chest. And the pressure is... she can almost count his ribs if she concentrates.

 _Thud_ , the glass falls to the ground, the noise softened by the carpet. It's okay, because Izaya had already drunk the contents. He likes how Namie looks up at him and doesn't seem threatened by his actions at all – just annoyed by the presumption, the nerve! In a funny way this makes Izaya think that she trusts him.

He has her pinned down against the mattress – though it probably hurts him more than it does her – and it dawns on Namie that it smells... not dirty but slept-in and that bothers her more (much more) than Izaya's good hand around her wrist (which is hot) and his breath against her neck (which is hot).

`What are you doing?´ she demands, aware that her voice sounds a bit more urgent than she means too. `Do you want me to kill you?´

`Somehow I will get you into my bed for real,´ he says.

His face is very close to hers.

That makes her think twice.

`Not now, not ever,´ she replies.

(he knows he could do this and she'd let him; he is not flattering himself here, he knows she wants this, and it would be great, Izaya feels _this_ is exactly what he needs right now, this is nice, he is enjoying just the way her breasts press up against his chest, enjoying just having her hips trapped and rebelling under his weight, this is definitely getting him hard, but he is smart as fuck and can see the complications, can see how it would stir... what's the word? sure not _feeling_ but something else, something he'd rather leave alone for now)

He seems to believe the tone of her warning – or at least believe her enough to let her go; Namie stands up from the bed, untangling herself from under his body (which is fever-hot) in one quick (but ungraceful) movement.

Funnily enough – and this he didn't predict, with all his study of human behaviour and his first-hand knowledge of this test subject – Namie doesn't run out of his sight as soon as he lets her go. Actually, she doesn't leave his bed. She just sits up, straightening her clothes to a degree, and pushing the pillow behind her back. She is a lot closer now, basically sharing the bed with Izaya.

He celebrates it rescuing his glass from the floor and pouring himself a large one.

`You shouldn't mix painkillers with that.´

Izaya snorts.

She has never seen him quite so dismissive – sure, he can be cold, and he can definitely be unhinged, and despotic, but he is never detached, oddly enough.

He offers the bottle and she hesitates.

One drink can't hurt; it might even help make Izaya more bearable.

`I took the Chuo line today, to Musashisakai,´ he tells her as she drinks. `Did you know it holds the record for train suicides in all of Tokyo's stations?´

`One of your usual haunts then?´

That makes him smile.

`Not quite. Have you ever been to the Tama Cemetery? I went this morning. Mishima is buried there. He cut his stomach open with a sword.´

`You're really cheerful today.´

Namie is not Izaya; though similar in many respects (Namie would grit her teeth and dismiss it if you told her this) she doesn't behold every shred of information she receives as something that could be of her advantage or used against others. She grows uneasy with the accumulating amount of information she has about Izaya. He says – he is very adamant on this – he doesn't _trust_ her but he talks and talks. He really runs his mouth.

`You can stay. I still have half a bottle to go through and we can watch a movie.´

She doesn't reply; instead she examines his hand. There's nothing gentle in the way Namie takes his hand in hers and turns it palm upside, nothing warm in the way she uses her thumb to press his fingers and see how much they bend until Izaya has to close his eyes. And yet this is as close as it gets to a fantasy Izaya doesn't admit he is having.

`You'll survive,´ she says, returning that hand to its owner harshly.

He stares at her. She's almost beautiful. And she is doing the crossed-arms thing again.

`So what are we watching?´ She asks.

`I have all the Disney movies on Blu-ray.´

`Are they your sisters'?´

`As if those monsters could appreciate...´

He wiggles. He shifts on the bed, disturbing the sheets and covers and the still-careful distance at which Namie is sitting, apparently looking for the remote. He winces at every strained movement but he doesn't give up until he finds it.

He presses YES on the “resume playback” option (Namie confesses she is a bit curious as to what he was watching before she came home) and a random scene of _The Jungle Book_ (Namie rolls her eyes) comes up on the screen.

She touches the skin on her wrist: it's still red.

`Did I hurt you?´

No, that's not it... Namie thinks, but if Izaya thinks he is hearing such a thing from her mouth he has another thing coming.

`Brute. I was right not to trust you.´

`Well, I did say I loved humans...´ he excuses himself – but then he frowns. `I never thought I'd be doing that on a one-on-one basis, that's all.´

Namie turns her attention to the tv screen, pretending not to be puzzled by that last remark. Well, she is puzzled. And she doesn't want to think about it. She thinks she knows what Izaya means but has no desire to pursue that line of thought, not right now. And if it doesn't mean what she thinks it means... that she doesn't want to know either.

They have arrived at an impasse.

Luckily one of these days Shizuo (or some other of the three thousand of enemies Izaya has in this city) will finally manage to break the idiot's head for good and Namie will never have to think about these things again.

  



End file.
